sheet stains

There has been a smear of liquid foundation on my bed sheet for a week.

It looks like poop. And it’s right at about butt level, too. If someone were to accidentally wander into my bedroom, they would probably jump to the conclusion that I’d sharted during sex.

I know *I* would jump to that conclusion.

est. 1975 has a stain in her bed and she is not doing shit about it. #funny #humor #stain #bed #est1975 #est1975blog @est1975blog
My husband and I. About every single stain and/or smell that appears in our bed.

Fortunately, only my husband, my son, and I ever go into my bedroom. And I know this to be the case. So when I was doing my makeup in bed (why) and accidentally pumped my little bottle of foundation too hard and squirted it all over the sheets (dumb), I made the controversial decision to:

  1. Give it a half-assed blot with some toilet paper.
  2. Abandon the pretense.
  3. Toss the duvet over it and act like nothing ever happened.

I didn’t decide these things because I’m lazy (I am). I didn’t decide them because I’m gross (also yes). I decided them because I hate changing sheets with Every. Fiber. Of. My. Being.

est. 1975 has a stain in her bed and she is not doing shit about it. #funny #humor #stain #bed #est1975 #est1975blog @est1975blog
You see an unmade bed. I see the stuff of nightmares.

Now, now. Calm your tits. Don’t go running to the phone to inform Social Services that I’m an unfit wife and/or mother. I may be gross but I’m not that gross. I change the bed sheets just as regularly as anyone else. It’s just that in this particular instance I had JUST changed them. Like the DAY before.

And I really, really, really didn’t want to change them again.

I felt a *teensy* bit guilty about not doing it. Just a teensy. So I had a mini-conversation with myself in order to justify my reasoning:

Me: “You should probably change those sheets.”

Myself: “Don’t be ridiculous. Look at that. It’s just an itty bitty blemish on an otherwise pristine set of sheets.”

Me: “But it looks like poop.”

Myself: “So?”

Me: “So, poop is gross.”

Myself: “It might look like poop, but it isn’t poop. There’s no smell. There’s no germs. There’s no hygiene issue here.”

Me: “But…”

Myself: “Oh, so you really want to rip off all the sheets and fucking do all that work right now?”

Me: “No.”

Myself: “Well, then.”

Me: “ . . . ”

Myself: “Do we have any Cheetos? I’m hungry for Cheetos.”

And thus the sheets remain unchanged.

Oh, don’t judge. When my son was just a little guy with what I would characterize as an “unpredictable esophagus,” I was changing sheets constantly. That kid could barf, and he did it a lot. Every time he ate something funny. Every time he got stressed. Every time he caught a cold. Every time he took a ride in the car. Every time anything happened at all. He was a master of the violent and overly productive retch, and a disproportionate amount of this retching happened at night. In bed. On clean sheets.

est. 1975 has a stain in her bed and she is not doing shit about it. #funny #humor #stain #bed #est1975 #est1975blog @est1975blog
If my son was the Christ child.

Still. A mom has to do what a mom has to do. My husband and I swiftly came to an arrangement: he cleaned up the kid, and I cleaned up the sheets. Each of us did these jobs reluctantly, but we did them nonetheless, looking stoically forward to the day that our son would grow out of his incessant horking. Which he eventually did.

Then, what seemed like a blink of an eye later, the nightly nosebleeds started.

It turned out that my son had a bunch of blood vessels in his nose that were too close to the surface, and he ended up needing nasal cautery surgery to fix the problem. But it took us about a year to a) definitively diagnose the problem, b) try out non-surgical options, and then c) convince our son that he was not going go to into surgery and wake up dead.

A whole year. Of bloody pillowcases and sheets.

*shakes head*


Fortunately, my son is now six and he no longer pukes at the drop of a hat. The nosebleed problem is solved. There are no more overnight accidents (which I didn’t even bother to mention, because we all know what those entail.) And last but not least: our two elderly cats, who were also a dab hand at expressing biohazard all over our bed sheets, have at long last crossed the Rainbow Bridge. So I’m finally back on a “normal” routine of changing the linens.

So, a smear of foundation? It didn’t come from a butt. It didn’t come from a nose. It didn’t come from an unpredictable esophagus. It is NOT EVEN A THING. It can wait till the weekend.

IT. CAN. WAIT. Trust.

This, on the other hand:

est. 1975 has a stain in her bed and she is not doing shit about it. #funny #humor #stain #bed #est1975 #est1975blog @est1975blog
Aw hell no.


An earlier version of this piece was published in 2014 on BLUNTmoms.

If you haven’t already done so, consider following est. 1975 on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Pinterest! I add fresh, hilarious material every single day.


Photo credits:
“Woman Washing Kettle”: Artist Adriaan de Lelie (1755–1820); Title “Woman scrubbing a kettle”; Date 1796; Source/Photographer; — Modified
“Virgin and Child: Title “The Virgin and Child,” a painting attributed to the Master of Flemalle; Date 6 March 2013; Source — Modified
“Unmade Bed”: Date 18 April 2005, 01:04:01; Source Flickr; Author Liz Lawley — Modified
“Couple in Bed”: Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (1864–1901); Title “In the Bed”; Date 1893; Source/Photographer The Yorck Project: 10.000 Meisterwerke der Malerei. DVD-ROM, 2002. ISBN 3936122202. Distributed by DIRECTMEDIA Publishing GmbH. — Modified

28 Replies to “sheet stains”

  1. I wouldn’t change them for a makeup smudge either. And yes, isn’t that ALWAYS when it happens? It’s always the freshly cleaned (not pressed/ironed b/c that’s just insane) sheets. Our youngest was our little puker. He’d throw up so easily, but thankfully he wasn’t as bad as what you describe with your son. Glad to hear he no longer has those nosebleeds. That sounds rough.

    1. Our son is still a puker. Too much sun? Barf. Too much exercise? Barf. Too much heat? Barf. Too much stress? Barf. Red Gatorade? Barf.

      Yeah, the nosebleeds only happen once in a while now. It’s so much better than it was.

      Thanks for reading!

  2. We probably change the sheets once a week and that is only because Randy does it. I mean, I would eventually…and there is always something spilled somewhere.

    I feel you on the puke. My older son had chronic migraines and puked ALL THE TIME.

    1. My son gets migraines too and it’s the same with us. And he hates to take the migraine medicine or the Zoloft so he pretends he feels fine. It’s a nightmare.

      Hey, I owe you some emails… I’m just trying to get ready for a week and a half long trip to my parents and its taking forevah!

  3. As far as stains go, makeup doesn’t even register on the radar. Sheets are kinda my weird I could love having ocd thing. I’d change them every day just to have that clean sheet feeling when I collapse into bed. I said I would, not I do washing and folding sheets sucks donkey balls! There’s always a stray sock that came from who knows where stuck in the corner of the fitted that you don’t notice until after the sheet is dry and there it is that dang sick that’s still soaking wet. And anyone that can fold those boogers is obviously the spawn of Martha Stewart. Anyway, I like clean sheets.

  4. You are aware that you’re Caucasian, aren’t you? Either something is amiss in your digestive track or you aren’t very skilled at matching your foundation to your actual skin color. Judging by the pics you’ve shared of yourself, you are at least 8 shades lighter than one that resembles poop. You know, if you buy your foundation from a fancy department store they’ll give you a mirror and let you take it outside to test the color on your skin in natural lighting.

    P.S. If I ever get my shit together (no pun intended) and start a blog, would you pretty please consider being my graphics consultant?

    1. So it looked like a milky poop! Whatever, it was still gross.

      Hahahaha my graphics are the lamest graphics there is. But thanks for the compliments 🙂 You are my fave.

      1. Oh, I have no doubt that it was gross, and no idea why my brain took a left turn at the cosmetics counter. Milky poop is even more fabulously disgusting!

  5. Hahaha, words and stuff!!

    There’s nothing more aggravating that walking into the bedroom and seeing the bedding gone from the bed. It means I’ll have to help put it back on before I can rest in my own bed again. It takes like 9.2 seconds of my time and is much easier for both of us to do it, but I still hate it. I do love the clean sheets though.

    I’ll have to ask my wife about some of the stains on her side of the bed. I don’t think she puts her makeup on in bed because she’s not an invalid, so I’m curious about her response. Lol.

  6. My hatred of sheet changing is matched only by my love of fresh sheets. It’s a difficult position to be in. I’ve always said that if I ever win the lottery, the one obnoxious extravagance I’d go for would be for someone to come in and change my sheets every day. Every. Fucking. Day.

  7. Oh lord, you are a kindred spirit. I have a 7yo old son and recently I found two DARK BROWN stains on my pillowcase. We don’t own a pet. My first thought was, “Did he take a shit and forget to wash his hands?” I mean, with little boys, God only knows. He could have just as easily been watching TV on our bed and decided to rub his ass on the pillowcase (because he sure as heck loves farting into my pillow before I go to bed sometimes). Anyway, long story short is that he had sneak-eaten Oreos and then wiped his mouth on my pillowcases. Until I found out the truth, I started writing a country western song in my head entitled, “Shit on My Pillow”.

  8. I’m pretty sure every. single. one. of my inner monologues ends with ““Do we have any Cheetos? I’m hungry for Cheetos.” And then, of course, I get orange Cheeto dust on the duvet, and then it looks like I had a radioactive shit on my bed. And I still don’t change the sheets, because if I were really taking honest-to-goodness radioactive orange shits, I would be writing a bestseller about how I was abducted by aliens and how they probed me with a nuclear prong. Cheetos/interestingstory/bestseller/money. Win/win/win/win.

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